Atalapha, a Winged Brownie 
ing independent of him. He was her equal in size, 
and though they kept the same den, they came and 
went more as they listed, often alone. Sometimes 
they did not meet at all in the hunt. 
With the opening of the Red Moon another great 
change began. The mother left the den earlier, 
left it sometimes as soon as the first shadows had 
fallen on the forest, skimmed far away, he knew not 
where, came home later, would sometimes go out 
in the middle of the night, which is not the custom 
of the Bat, would leave in the morning too early 
for the morning meal, and come back perhaps near 
sunrise, tired but excited. She had not now the 
burden of nursing her young, and she filled out in 
flesh, her fur fluffed softer than velvet, and its rich 
brown, too, was frosted with silver tips that shone 
like skifts of snow. Her eyes grew bright and her 
cheeks, once so flat and thin, puffed out in rounded 
shape of health and vigorous desire. Some great 
change was setting in, and its first effect was to sep- 
arate the mother from the son. 
It was on the third or fourth day of the growing 
change, on toward the time of morning meal—the 
little star blink, when none but the faintest stars 
are blotted out—Atalapha and his mother had not 
yet aroused, when a strange sound came whinnying 
through the calm, clear air. It was new to Atalapha 
159 
